But a Shadow
by nebula99
Summary: Something is haunting Dr. Spencer Reid.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Written for Halloween. Mild spoilers up to _In Birth and Death_.

**But a Shadow**

To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream:

Ay, there's the rub.

William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

Dr. Spencer Reid did not believe in ghosts. He was a scientist and had been raised in a tradition that sought objectivity and valued empiricism. He liked data. He liked its logic. Numbers, answers, results, statistical significance – all of these things mattered. Proof mattered.

Like most scientists, Reid was fairly sceptical. He had long been interested in James Randi and his, still unclaimed, offer of $1 million to anybody who could prove the existence of paranormal phenomena. Randi's site was bookmarked in his laptop and he checked on the challengers on a fairly regular basis. He was particularly amused by the woman who claimed to induce paranormal urination in participants and was eagerly awaiting the actual challenge.

Reid was not troubled by fear of ghosts. The dead were gone and he knew, only too well, that we have much more to fear from the living.

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It was only a nightmare.

_Only a nightmare_. When had he begun to dismiss them like that? Reid shook his head, tossing the sweat soaked strands of hair out of his eyes.

Only a nightmare.

He still jerked awake, heart pounding, skin clammy, gasping for breath with the bed sheets twisted in his fists. The dreams were still as horrific as before, leaving him incapable of returning to sleep. But he could dismiss them because they were just dreams. When you have actually lived this stuff, you can feel superior to the horrors your mind plays for you. He really had been there, done that. How could the dreams even begin to touch it?

It was only a nightmare and it would melt into the thin night air. He was here, in his own bed and he was safe.

Reid rubbed his eyes and peered at the luminous display on his alarm clock; 3.29 am. Not the earliest he had ever gotten up but he'd at least had a few hours sleep, restless as they were. He shivered, the sweat drying on his skin and cooling him. He switched on his bedside lamp and wrapped his arms around his chest, closing his eyes and letting the images of being buried alive flash in his memory and then fade. He was okay, he was here and he would stop shaking in a minute.

He sniffed and swung his legs around to get out of bed. Grabbing his glasses from the nightstand, he quickly took the few steps to pull his robe from the back of the door. As he knotted the belt, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Reid looked down, scanning the circle of light cast by his lamp on the bland wallpaper. There was nothing there. He shook his head and turned away, only to be halted by another flicker of movement.

Reid sighed and turned back to look more closely. It was probably a spider and if he could catch it and dispose of it gently out of the window, all the better. He wasn't particularly scared of them, but it was hard to rest easily knowing that a long legged beastie was roaming your walls. He reached a hand behind him to flick on the overhead light and in the split second that it took for the darkness to flit away, he thought he saw a shape move across the wall to join it.

Reid shuddered and felt a sudden chill. It was cold here at night and he pulled his robe tighter. He peered at the wall behind his bed. If there was a spider, it was hiding and he didn't have the energy to start pulling out furniture.

Yawning, he made his way to the kitchen and lit the stove. He switched on his laptop while the kettle boiled and settled down to play online Peggle until it was time to get ready for work.

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The nightmare was quickly put to the back of Reid's mind. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of them and getting through the day with regular caffeine boosts when he felt his eyelids dropping had become a way of life. Black coffee contains nothing of nutritional value, apart from a couple of calories; however Spencer Reid still considered caffeine to be a major food group.

He yawned his way through the next case, grabbing catnaps on the plane and wondering if the spider would have gotten bored with the lack of food or entertainment in his lonely apartment while he was away and moved on. It was only a spider; it was nothing to worry about.

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A few days later, Reid was dozing on his couch, having fully intended to immerse himself in _Quantum Leap_ re-runs. He didn't want to go to bed just yet and he hadn't watched this show for ages. But his eyes kept closing and he finally gave in, vaguely aware of the hum of the TV as he drifted off.

Reid awoke suddenly, his eyes snapping open. He was lying on the couch but he couldn't move. On the TV, Sam was arguing with Al but the sound seemed muted. He could see their lips moving but he couldn't hear any of the dialogue. Reid stared at the TV, unable to move any of his limbs, starting to panic in the silence.

The standard lamp behind his couch cast a pale circle of light on the floor. Reid glanced downwards, his eyes drawn by movement at the dark edges of the brightness. Something moved across the light and into the shadows. It looked like footsteps. There was a sound, coming from outside his visual field; a hissing, shushing sound. There was someone – something - in his apartment; something bad. He closed his eyes and heard the sound getting louder and closer until it was right above him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and felt his heart pounding.

Suddenly, the volume on the TV returned to normal and Reid gave a start. He opened and closed his eyes a few times and then pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked around the room, twisting his body to see behind him. There was nobody there. The only noise was from the TV.

Reid hurried to the bathroom to wash his face. It was nothing – just a dream. He had probably experienced a _false awakening_ - dreamed that he had awoken. He rationalised that he had been in a hypnopompic state, experiencing sleep paralysis and a faint hallucination. It was perfectly normal, especially when someone has experienced a lack of sleep. There was literature about it, evidence. It was really nothing to worry about.

Over the next few days, Reid spent his free time online, searching for journal articles and information on hypnopompia and hypnagogia. He sought reassurance in analysis and scientific study. It was a common enough phenomenon and, like most sleep disorders, exacerbated by stress and tiredness; he was stressed and tired.

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Despite the attempts to comfort himself, Reid retained a sense of unease, especially in his home at night. He told himself he was being childish. He lived alone and had done for a long time. Developing a fear of being on his own in his apartment was not only foolish but completely impractical.

"Anyway," he muttered to himself, "I'm not on my own. Somewhere in my bedroom is an enormous spider."

But the joking didn't really ease any of the tension he felt in the oppressive darkness. Reid even dug out his childhood teddy bear and sat it, like a one-eyed sentry, on his pillow. He didn't clutch it to him at night, but he left it on the bed, almost as a talisman. Teddy bears were good things and its saggy half-stuffed body seemed to radiate benevolence.

It worked for a few days at least.

A few nights later Reid was getting ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and after drying his face, looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

But the image was not what he was expecting to see.

Staring back at him in the brightly lit bathroom, was the face of Philip Dowd, eyes wide with surprise and a tell-tale circle of blood where Reid's bullet had pierced his forehead. Startled, the young man yelped and stumbled backwards, slipping on a towel and landing heavily on his backside. Pain shot up his spine from his coccyx, causing sharp tears to scratch at the back of his eyes.

Reid sat for a moment, shocked, before getting gingerly to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took slow, awkward steps towards the sink. He kept his gaze towards the floor, too fearful to look in mirror. Reaching the sink, Reid gripped the cold porcelain with both hands and steeled himself to lift his eyes.

This time, the face that looked back at him was his own. His skin was pale, highlighting the shadows that hung under his eyes. But it was definitely his own face. Reid stared at his reflection, scanning the image of the bathroom behind him. There was nobody there.

"Get a grip, Spencer," he told himself. He moved one hand to rub at his bruised tailbone and with the other, opened his cabinet. Some Vicodin would soothe the injury and it would also help him to sleep. The mirrored door swung smoothly open, catching and bouncing the light around the tiny bathroom. Reid bent to fill his palm with water to wash down the pills and then replaced the bottle.

As he pushed the glass door closed, he watched his reflection slide back into view. It was still his face. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, closing his eyes. It had been a trick of the light, nothing more; one of the games played by an exhausted mind.

He opened his eyes and looked again at the reflected bathroom. There was probably a pattern on the tiles that resembled a face and his brain had worked overtime to accentuate the image; stored knowledge combining with sensory data to create something that wasn't actually there, like a classic optical illusion. He peered at the wall behind him in the mirror.

The shower curtain cast a shadow over the white tub. As he studied the reflected tile pattern, he saw something that made him gasp. The shadow seemed to start to grow, pushing out of the tub and up the wall. He froze, unable to turn round or to stop watching.

The blackness moved slowly over the tiles, stretching out long fingers of shadow and growing until it was almost the same size as him. Reid's mouth dropped open and he stared, horrified, as the shape stepped away from the wall, moving from two to three dimensions. There was no definition, he couldn't make out any features, but it looked like a hooded figure. Reid felt his heart knocking against his chest and a rushing sound filled his ears. The . . . thing was coming towards him. He forced himself to move a hand and reached for his razor – the closest thing he had to a weapon.

The shadowy shape came closer, pulling the darkness along with it. Reid counted silently to three and then spun round, grabbing at the shower curtain and yanking it down from the hooks. He made to throw it over the figure, buying himself a moment while it couldn't see him, but as he moved, the figure seemed to dissolve back into the wall.

Shower curtain bundled in his arms, Reid stared at the tub. There was no shadow now and the . . . thing was nowhere to be seen. There was nobody there.

Relief rushed through him and he laughed nervously. He must have been more tired than he realised. _Psycho_ is just a movie, he reminded himself, and they used chocolate syrup for the blood.

He shoved the shower curtain into the tub and hurried to his bedroom, leaving the bathroom and the hallway lights on this time. Reid settled into his bed, tucking the teddy bear under the blankets next to him.

Just so the smell would relax him.

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The sense of unease remained with him. He became very conscious of his isolation when he was in his apartment, despite the occasional sense of being watched. Reid took to playing music almost constantly to rid the place of silence. He forced himself to sing along or to tap out basslines as he waited for his dinner to cook, just to add to the sounds. If he was concentrating on the music, he wasn't thinking about the shadows.

Still the nightmares continued, building in frequency until he was surprised when morning came and he _hadn't_ awoken trembling in the early hours. When he had had problems with them before, Morgan and Hotch had told him to speak to Gideon. But now Gideon was gone and these dreams were much more disturbing than those that had troubled him previously.

In his sleep, Reid would watch Mike and Pam Hayes die, over and over again. He would sit helpless as their throats were slit, one after another and when he looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood. Then he would lift his eyes to the screen and the murders would play out again.

Other times in his dreams, he would lie bound and helpless in the grave he had dug, while Tobias Hankel shovelled earth onto his face. He tried to twist away from it, but the grave was too narrow and the soil was raining down too fast.

Spencer Reid knew plenty of explanations for nightmares.

But he didn't know how to stop them.

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After a few days in the office, battling the mountains of paperwork, everyone was restless. Reid was trying to finish an article Emily had found for him, but his attention kept being drawn by a conversation between the rest of the team members. Morgan was going on about some horror movie he had seen.

"So, Emily," Morgan said with a feline grin, "Do _you _believe in ghosts? JJ and Hotch say no – what about you?"

Emily smiled and then nodded thoughtfully before answering. "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "But I've had some strange experiences and maybe there are some things that we just can't explain."

Morgan looked at her. "Emily Prentiss – do you see dead people?" he asked in a high-pitched voice before breaking out into laughter.

Emily leaned over and punched him lightly on the arm. "No," she replied with a grin. "But as I said, there are some phenomena that we cannot explain." She paused and then said, "There are more things in Heaven and Earth . . . "

"Than are dreamt of in your philosophy," finished Reid almost inaudibly.

Morgan shook his head and then turned to him. "C'mon Reid, man," he said, "You must know - are there such thing as ghosts?" He lifted his arms above his head, uttering "Wooooooh," in his spookiest voice.

Reid cleared his throat and then spoke quietly. "There has never actually been a proven incidence of a haunting."

"So you don't believe in ghosts," stated Morgan.

"For every claim of a ghost or ghostly presence, there is usually a mechanical or biochemical explanation for the phenomenon or sighting," Reid replied with a nod. "There's also a phenomenon called _pareidolia_ which is where we apply significance to what are actually random stimuli, such as sounds or a collection of images."

"What about that house?" asked Morgan. "The one that looks like a pumpkin face?"

"The Amityville hauntings have been pretty much dismissed as a hoax," replied Reid with a shrug.

Emily looked at him, amused. "But you didn't answer Morgan's question," she said with a twinkle. "What do _you _think?"

"I . . . . um . . . I think our minds are very creative," mumbled Reid, turning back to his desk.

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Back at Reid's apartment, his discomfort grew. He thought he saw Dowd's face reflected in his mirror on a few more occasions, and each time he glanced around nervously at the shadows. Then he forced himself to look again in the mirror and see his own face blinking timidly back.

His lack of sleep was taking its toll. The tiredness dragged at him, making him nauseated at times and so he started to skip lunch at work. Trying to find some peace and quiet, he headed for the restrooms one lunch time, locking himself in the furthest stall.

He closed the toilet lid and sat down, leaning his head on the wall and shutting his eyes. He was going to breathe in and out slowly and let the nausea subside. He breathed the cold air in through his nose and held it for a moment, then let it flow out of his mouth. It was supposed to be relaxing.

Reid kept his breathing slow and felt his tense muscles start to relax. He thought he should try to visualise somewhere happy. He drifted back through his memories to when he was very young – before his father left, before his mother was sick.

_He was three years old and playing hide and seek with his parents in the back yard. His dad had been throwing him in the air until they were both laughing so much that he had had to put the little boy down and choose a different game. Reid hid with his mom and his dad was making a huge show of looking for them, pretending to search earnestly under rocks and over turned toys._

_When the giggling got too loud to ignore, they were found behind a bush. Reid then insisted on being the one to search, so he closed his eyes and counted slowly to fifty._

"_Coming, ready or not," he shouted and began to walk slowly down the lawn, looking from side to side. He knew that the hiding places would be limited and that his parents would be almost certainly behind the trees at the bottom. He tried to fool them with a few glances behind low bushes but he knew where he was headed. _

_Reid got to the bottom of the back yard and waited a moment, before jumping behind the tree, shouting "Boo!"_

_Instead of the laughter that should have greeted his success, there was nothing. There was nobody there. Puzzled, the little boy turned back to see where else they could be hiding. He started to walk faster around the yard, searching for where his parents could be. There was nothing else large enough for them to hide behind. _

_Reid stood in the middle of the lawn and looked around. There was nobody there. He ran up to the back door but it was locked. The house looked different - deserted, torn curtains flapping at broken windows. He turned back to the yard and ran down to the trees. His parents had to be there._

_Panting, he reached the trees and placing his hands on the trunk, peered around them. His fingers dug into the harsh bark as a hooded figure looked back at him. For a moment he couldn't move, then as the figure loomed towards him, he turned to run back to the house._

_The lawn sloped upwards and running was hard work. Reid looked back over his shoulder as the hooded figure approached and then tripped and fell. Sitting up, he saw that he had fallen over the body of Tobias Hankel, his glassy eyes staring reproachfully at him. Suddenly the dead man reached out a hand and grabbed the small boy's ankle . . . _

The stall door burst open as Morgan's foot kicked hard.

"Reid!" he shouted, grabbing hold of the young man's shoulders. "REID!"

Reid jolted in Morgan's grip and whimpered. He felt Morgan shake him slightly and blinked a few times to try and re-focus his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked hoarsely. He could see Hotch standing at the stall door, hands on hips and a look of concern on his face.

Morgan was frowning at him. "You were screaming in here. Reid – what's going on?"

Reid pulled his arms free from Morgan's grasp. "I . . . must have been dreaming," he muttered. "Sorry." He made to stand up. "I'm fine."

"You fell asleep on the can?" asked Morgan in disbelief. "Reid – you were screaming. And I mean loud."

Reid sidled past him and went to the sinks to wash his hands. He heard Hotch's voice, low and soft with concern. "Reid – is everything OK?"

Bending to splash water onto his face, Reid nodded. "I'm just tired," he replied.

He heard Hotch speak. "Morgan – why don't you go and report a broken stall door to janitor services?"

There was a moment's hesitation and Reid continued to rub at his wet face. He heard Morgan sigh and then turn and walk out of the restroom.

Hotch handed him some paper towels and Reid patted his skin dry, still looking down into the sink.

"Reid – if something is wrong, I need to know," said Hotch, gently but insistently.

Reid looked up at him. "I'm not sleeping too well. I get nightmares and they've gotten worse since . . . . since . . . recently." He shrugged. "I used to . . . um . . . talk to Gideon about them."

Hotch patted him on the shoulder. "Do you have a counselling appointment coming up?"

Reid nodded. "Next Tuesday. But really, I'm fine."

"You can always talk to me," said Hotch. "And you have a lot of vacation time left. If you need a break – please take it." He kept eye contact with Reid for a few moments. "There is no shame in asking for help."

Reid could see the expectant look in Hotch's eyes but he couldn't tell him what he had seen in his apartment. Hotch would think he was crazy. "Thank you, but I'm fine." He smiled weakly. "I just need a few early nights."

Hotch turned away, but as he did, Reid noticed an expression flicker across his face. He wasn't sure – Hotch hid his emotions so well – but for a moment Hotch's expression was troubling. Rather than being angry or irritated, Hotch just looked saddened.

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There was no time for anybody to dwell on this as JJ called them all to the conference room to brief them on a new case. There had been a series of rapes near the Russian River area, north of San Francisco and the team were heading out to help with the profile. Reid sat with his head down, avoiding eye contact with Hotch and Morgan.

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On the flight back to Virginia when it was all over, Reid noticed that nearly everyone else was sound asleep. The cabin lights were low and there was a gentle background soundtrack of rhythmic breathing. He yawned; he was tired too and if he slept on the plane, then he wouldn't have to worry about going to bed in his apartment. But if he slept, there was every chance of another nightmare and if they all heard him screaming . . . there was no way Hotch would let it go this time.

Reid shifted in his seat. Maybe he could just try to rest. He leaned his chin on his fist and gazed out at the black night sky.

He tried hard not to drift off to sleep, jerking back to wakefulness every time his eyes glazed over. He recited formulae and algorithms in his head, including his party piece of listing _pi_ to one hundred places, but it was hard to stop the memories of that shadowy figure from intruding. He was also finding the lure of sleep more and more difficult to ignore.

A tap on the shoulder pulled him back to wakefulness. Hotch sat down and handed him a cup of coffee. "Still awake?" he asked quietly. "You should be making the most of paid sleeping time."

Reid took a slurp of the scalding bitter liquid. "Like you are?" he said with a smile.

Hotch gave a shrug. "There's nothing much else for me to do at home other than sleep," he acknowledged. "And it's hard to get comfortable on these seats."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking coffee and listening to the hum of the plane's engines. Then Hotch spoke. "You _can_ talk to me," he said, "Last time I checked, nightmares are not enough to get you fired from the FBI." He looked hard at Reid. "I hope I'm not just your boss – I hope I'm also a friend?"

Reid blinked nervously at Hotch and cleared his throat. "You've had to shoot people, right?" Hotch nodded and Reid continued, "Do you ever stop feeling bad about it?"

Hotch considered for a moment before answering. "You never feel good about it," he replied, "But after a while, you accept that it is part of your history." He put a hand on Reid's shoulder. "You did what you had to do. You are not to blame for somebody else's choices."

Reid worried at his bottom lip for a moment. "But Tobias Hankel – you guys were coming," he said, "You would have been there in a moment. I didn't need to . . . you could have . . . "

"Reid," said Hotch gently, "He would have killed you. You had one chance and you had to take it. Same as with Philip Dowd."

Reid nodded and turned back to look through the window. He wished he could explain the rest of it to Hotch, but it was just too hard to articulate.


	2. Chapter 2

Reaching his apartment in the early hours of the morning, Reid was so exhausted that he fell asleep fully clothed on his bed.

He awoke suddenly a couple of hours later, having dreamed again about a shadowy hooded figure. He didn't have to go into work, so got changed and spent the day pottering in his apartment, sorting through a pile of mail and then writing to his mother. He didn't mention the dreams.

He had been uneasy for most of the day. He had heard odd noises, sounds that could have been whispers and had consequently turned up his music until he heard nothing else. He was trying so hard to spend his day normally.

Spencer Reid was not going to believe that his apartment was haunted, or possessed or infested with something unworldly. That was just not possible. His senses were unreliable as a result of his being so tired; that was all it was.

He wasn't really hungry, so he ate some dry cereal out of the packet. Then he decided to take a bath before going to bed.

Reid hadn't replaced the shower curtain. He had thought about it, but couldn't bring himself to, so it was folded neatly in the corner of the bathroom. He either took a bath at home or showered at work.

He ran the bath and eased himself into the warm water. Cocooned in its protective atmosphere, he felt the tension slip away at last. He was safe here.

Reid wriggled his body down the tub until only his head rested out of the water. The wetness lapped at his chin and he leaned his head back on a folded towel. The warmth permeated his limbs and he closed his eyes – just to enjoy it for a moment.

But his eyelids were so heavy and the bath was so warm and he was so tired.

Reid's breathing slowed and deepened. His limbs became limp and his jaw slack. His chin dipped below the water line as his chest rose and fell rhythmically.

His body slipped a little deeper under the water. Gradually it covered his lips and then his head dropped. The warm bathwater pulled him a little further under.

Suddenly Reid's hands flew into the air as his head was dragged underneath. He opened his eyes and looked up in panic at the distorted view of the bathroom ceiling. He kicked out automatically and began to thrash and struggle, the need for air twisting his hands into claws. Somehow he managed to grab hold of the sides of the tub and push down, finally enabling him to lift his head out of the water.

Sitting hunched over, Reid drew gasping breaths, shaking as water dripped from his mouth and nose. With a trembling hand, he reached up to push his soaking wet hair out of his eyes. The air felt uncomfortably cold and so Reid hauled his body out of the tub, reaching for a towel.

He wrapped one round his waist and began to dry his hair with another. He couldn't believe he had just fallen asleep and nearly drowned in the bath. He shivered, skin goosepimpling in the chilly air. He needed to pull himself together – he was 26 years old and had been taking care of himself for a very long time.

He was not going to start falling apart now.

He slapped himself hard on each cheek and then pinched the inside of his arms. He was awake. He breathed in and out a few times. He was here, in his apartment and everything was fine. He was just getting ready for bed like a normal person.

Reid yawned and wearily decided to just brush his teeth and go to bed. He turned to the sink, noticing the shadow thrown onto the wall by his bathroom cabinet. The edges seemed fuzzy, blurring onto the white tiles. He shuddered and pinched his arms again.

As he ran cold water into the sink, he became aware of sounds in the background. It was quiet at first, but he turned off the faucet and concentrated and gradually the sounds became sharper and more distinct and he could hear the words.

_Thou shalt not kill_

_Vengeance is mine saith the Lord_

_Thou shalt not kill_.

Horrified, Reid looked around. There was nobody there. He backed away until he hit the bathroom wall and then slid slowly to the floor, his spine bumping on the icy tiles.

_Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not kill._

_Thoushaltnotkill._

_ThoushaltnotkillThoushaltnotkillThoushaltnotkillThoushaltnotkillThoushaltnotkillThoushaltnotkill_

Whimpering, Reid shrank back against the wall. He brought his hands up to cover his ears but he could still hear it.

_ThoushaltnotkillThoushaltnotkill_

He looked around the room, eyes darting to each corner. He had to make it stop. He could see the shadows on the wall start to move and swell. He clenched his fists and yelled "I'm sorry!" but it still didn't stop.

Reid cowered in the bathroom, pressing his forehead against his knees and wrapping his arms over his scalp. The shadows were coming closer, he could feel it and the repeated commandment was ringing about the room. He was going to die here as punishment for what he had done.

In desperation, he started to whisper Latin verses he had read a long time ago. "Crux sancta sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux . . . " His voice faltered and he quashed a sob rising his throat. "Vade retro satana, numquam suade mihi vana, sunt mala quae libas, Ipse venena bibas . . . " Reid's voice trailed off as he reached the end of the prayer.

For a moment he sat trembling, waiting for the shadows to envelop him. Then, realising that it had gone quiet, he lifted his head and peeped out. The shadows had returned to their usual shape and the atmosphere had stilled. Relief flooded through him, shooting out to soften each limb. It had worked.

He wasn't sure how long he slumped there, too tired to get up. His body was heavy and floppy and he sprawled, half supported by the wall, like a marionette with the strings cut. He sat until the cold of the tiled floor seeped through the towel and the chill spread through his body. Then he got slowly to his feet and leaned against the cool bathroom wall, looking down at his shaking hands. He felt dreadful.

He glanced suspiciously at the cabinet and the shadow it was casting on the wall. It looked normal but he knew how quickly the normal could become terrible. He grabbed his sweatpants from the bathroom floor and put them on before heading to the kitchen.

He quickly returned with a toolkit that he had been given as a present when he moved in. Reid opened the cabinet and quickly emptied the shelves, piling the medicines and toiletries in the corner of the room. Then he began to try to unscrew the cabinet from the wall.

The screws were tight and had been painted over, making it difficult to loosen them. So Reid took a hammer and with a few hard hits managed to crack the wooden frame and knock the cabinet crashing to the floor.

Then he gathered up the splintered pieces of wood and piled them into a black plastic refuse sack. He dumped it in the kitchen and then returned to the bathroom, feeling a small sense of reassurance that the shadow from the cabinet was no longer there.

Feeling drained, he headed for bed. He got quickly under the covers, checking that his door was wide open and that he could see the lights from the bathroom, hallway and kitchen. He felt for the bear under the covers and rested his hand on the familiar worn plush, falling quickly asleep.

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Reid managed a few hours of fitful sleep before waking in a tangle of bed sheets, his head aching. He felt slightly guilty at the sight of all the lights on as daylight crept in through the windows, but quickly got up and switched them off. Then he ran a shallow tepid bath and washed himself very quickly, crouching in the water and shivering as it lapped against his skin.

It was Sunday but he almost hoped for a call to drag him into work. He didn't want to stay in his apartment on his own, but he didn't really know where else to go. His home felt treacherous – there was something rotten here. Usually he spent his free time reading or playing games but he was struggling to concentrate. He knew he should eat, but he wasn't hungry and he hadn't been shopping, so there was very little food in his cupboards. He drank coffee instead.

Reid was almost tempted to call Morgan or Garcia, to see if they would come over and spend the day with him. But he didn't. They would think he was crazy.

He was restless and found himself studying the shadows that the bright sun cast onto his walls. He forced himself to touch them, to run his fingers over the painted surface, feeling the smooth plaster underneath shiny exterior. The shaded parts felt no different to the brighter areas – they were just darker parts of the wall.

Reid spent most of the day writing and rewriting the prayer of St Benedict, and taping copies of it around his apartment. It was the closest he could come to an exorcism and as he wasn't actually religious, it seemed inappropriate to try much harder. He felt uncomfortable enough having borrowed a Catholic ritual for purely self-centred reasons.

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It was a relief to be able to go to work on Monday morning. Reid arrived at 6.00 am and took a shower before anybody noticed he was there.

He spent the day with his head down, working through a pile of paperwork. His stomach growled occasionally but there was nothing he wanted to eat. He forced down a couple of crackers, hiding behind the door in the break room so that nobody would see him.

Despite the sweater vest and chunky knit cardigan, he was still cold. He stifled a yawn and pulled the thick woollen comforter closer across his chest. He was so tired. He didn't want to be here and he didn't want to go home either.

Reid had finally acknowledged to himself that there was something haunting his apartment. There was a presence there, a malevolent spirit and he felt sure that the spoken Latin amulet was not going to be sufficient to remove it. He could bury the things he had done as deep as he liked, but they would still rise up. There were just too many.

Philip Dowd was dead because of him.

Tobias Hankel was dead because of him.

Randall Garner was dead because of him.

Mike and Pam Hayes were dead because of him.

JJ had nearly died because of him.

He picked up his pen and started to write. If he wrote it all down, maybe he would understand what to do.

After a short while, he became aware of Hotch and Morgan talking a few feet away. Hotch's brow was furrowed and Morgan's jaw was tight. Reid strained his ears and began to catch his name being mentioned, over and over again. Almost every other word was "Reid". He knew he couldn't tell them what was going on; Morgan would laugh and Hotch - Hotch might be understanding but he would have no choice. Hotch would have to suspend him from duty.

Very conscious that he needed to act as normal as possible, he stood up slowly and walked to the break room. He poured himself a cup of coffee and began to methodically tap sugar into the black liquid. A voice made him jump.

"Cookie?" asked Emily, holding a bag out to him.

Reid shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he replied, pressing his body back against the counter.

"Spencer Reid refuses snacks?" laughed Emily. "Are you sick?"

Reid didn't answer and Emily's expression changed to one of concern. She leaned closer. "Seriously, you look awful," she said. "Should you even be here?"

Reid shrugged and looked into his mug. "I'm not sleeping well," he mumbled.

Emily's voice was soft. "When did you last take some time off?" she asked.

"I can still do my job," replied Reid quickly, clutching the hot coffee tightly in his hand. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"I know that," said Emily, stepping back. "I know you can do your job. But you could have a vacation – go and visit a friend perhaps?"

She was only being nice, he knew that. But he ignored her and hurried out of the break room.

Reid spent the remainder of the day writing and trying to get up the courage to speak to Hotch. Finally he knocked on the Unit Chief's office door and presented him with a vacation request form. Hotch scanned it quickly, signed it and handed it back to him.

"Going anywhere fun?" asked Hotch.

Reid shrugged. "Depends on what you call fun," he replied and scurried out of the room.

He arrived home nervous but determined. He had got what he needed and he knew what he had to do.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The telephone call had unsettled Hotch. He wasn't surprised that Reid had named both him and Gideon as emergency contacts but he had been hoping that the young man was on vacation somewhere relaxing – and by the sounds of it, he wasn't.

Hotch grabbed his coat and headed through the bull pen towards the elevators. He debated who to ask to come with him and decided on Emily – she and Reid got on well these days and he knew Reid had spoken to her before. She quickly agreed and they both got into Hotch's car and drove through the traffic and into Washington.

Reid's landlady, Mrs Roland, was waiting for them at the entrance to the building. She was plump and kindly and shook their hands enthusiastically as Hotch did the introductions.

"He's never been any trouble," insisted Mrs Roland, "Always pays his rent on time. Such a quiet young man."

"Do you always take emergency contact details for your tenants?" asked Hotch as he peered down the dark corridor.

Mrs Roland smiled at him. "My tenants are usually young people, new to the city and on their own. I make sure I have someone to call if they need it."

Emily nodded. "What's been going on?"

Mrs Roland led them up the stairs. "It started with the lady below him complaining to me about the noise – which surprised me because Dr. Reid is so quiet. Anyway, she said that his music was getting awful loud and when she knocked on his door, he didn't answer it."

They came to Reid's floor and Mrs Roland continued, jiggling the keys in her hand. "And this week, he hasn't collected any of his mail but I know he's here. There's been a lot of noise – banging and music – and when I came up to knock on his door, he was shouting at someone."

They reached the door to the apartment and paused outside it. "Then there's the electricity meter," sighed Mrs Roland. "His meter has been spinning round like crazy but I can't get hold of him to talk to him about it." She looked nervously at Hotch. "I hope I've done the right thing here. I don't want to get him into trouble or nothing – I'm just worried for him. He's very young."

Hotch nodded. "You did the right thing," he reassured her. "We just want to make sure he's OK."

Hotch turned and rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Reid?" he called. "It's Hotch."

They all listened and could hear music coming from the apartment, but the door remained unopened. Hotch tried knocking again, but there was no reply. Mrs Roland handed him a key.

Emily spoke quietly to him. "Do you think we should go in? What if he's just partying?"

Hotch raised an eyebrow at her. "The best-case scenario is that there is nothing wrong - we look like idiots and Reid never speaks to either of us again. On the other hand, if there is something wrong, and there more than likely is, then we need to do something."

Hotch unlocked the door and slowly turned the handle, opening it slightly. "Reid?" he called, moving his hand to his gun.

Mrs Roland gasped and Emily patted her arm reassuringly. "It's just a precaution," she murmured.

The door moved suddenly and Reid stood peering round it. Hotch and Emily holstered their weapons and they all stared at him.

Hotch was the first to recover himself. "Can we come in?" he asked gently. Reid nodded and after he had thanked Mrs Roland, Hotch led Emily into Reid's apartment.

Closing the door behind her, Emily turned to Reid. "So," she said, "You cut your hair."

Reid looked away and ran his hand over his shaven scalp. "It was easier," he replied.

Emily nodded and then joined Hotch in wandering around the apartment in stunned silence.

It was incredibly bright – there were lights and lamps everywhere, their beams bouncing and reflecting off each surface. The bulbs must have all been 100 watts and both Hotch and Emily found themselves shielding their eyes. Most of Reid's furniture had gone and there was a heap of bulging black plastic sacks in the centre of the living room.

Hotch moved to the music centre and switched it off, before turning to Reid. "What is going on?" he asked gently.

Reid had his arms wrapped around his chest and was bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet. He looked past Hotch and frowned, then darted forwards to adjust a lamp. "Shadows," he muttered, "Have to get rid of them."

Reid continued to fiddle with the lamps, turned and twisting them to redirect the beams of light. He brushed a finger over one of the bulbs and flinched, bringing it to his mouth and sucking at the burnt digit.

Hotch tried again. "Reid," he said in a low voice, "Why are you worried about shadows?"

"Because he hides in them," hissed Reid. "And then he comes out."

"Who does?" asked Hotch. He was trying to remain calm.

"Raphael." Reid's voice had dropped to a whisper and he looked around nervously. "He came in my dreams and now he waits in the shadows."

Hotch moved to make eye contact with Reid. "Raphael is dead," he told him.

Reid nodded. "Mmm," he replied. "Dead – but not gone." He scratched at his arms.

Hotch's stomach knotted. He sighed and then moved to speak closely to Emily. "I'm going to call a doctor," he told her. "Reid is not well." Then he took out his cell phone and strode into the hallway.

Emily tried to smile brightly but it was hard. i Not well /i was an understatement. She knew he had been more withdrawn and he had lost weight, but she had not expected this. She looked at the pieces of paper taped around the room. "Is this Latin?" she asked, trying to make casual conversation.

Reid nodded. "The prayer of St Benedict." He gave a sigh and his shoulders dropped. "I thought it might work to keep him away, but it's not enough. I know this sounds crazy but he's haunting me."

"Are you sure?" asked Emily. "You've been under a lot of strain recently."

"Of course I'm sure!" snapped Reid, anger flaring on his gaunt face. "I've seen him. Do you think I would make that up?"

"No," replied Emily hastily. Then she changed the subject. "When did you last eat something?"

Reid shrugged and then staggered slightly, taking hold of the back of his couch with both hands.

Hotch returned, replacing his cell phone in his pocket. "Reid," he said, holding out his hand, "Why don't you come with us? We can take you to see a doctor."

Reid frowned at them both. "I'm not sick," he said. He took a couple of swaying steps and then stumbled. Hotch grabbed his arm to prevent him from falling.

Emily thought quickly. "You could do with some rest," she said. "And the lights are very bright at a hospital. There are no shadows there."

Reid looked wide-eyed at them both and then nodded. "I'm so tired," he whispered.

"Shoes?" asked Emily, looking around.

Reid pointed to the corner of the room. Hotch looked at the pile of shoes and his eyes closed for a moment in despair. The uppers had been cut from all of them, leaving nothing but exposed insoles.

"There were shadows inside them," mumbled Reid, leaning heavily against Hotch.

Emily found him a pair of thick socks and then waited as Hotch led Reid out of the apartment. Before she followed, she switched off all the lights. There were so many of them.

She shuddered as the apartment became dark, feeling a chill creep across her body.

As they left the building Reid stumbled and then his legs bent as his body slithered towards the ground. Hotch caught him and lifted him tenderly into the backseat of his car.

Reid looked up at him. "I'm so tired," he breathed.

Hotch nodded. He understood.

-----------------------------------------------------

Reid was still shivering, even in the almost tropical heat of the hospital. His hands pinched at the skin on his forearms in a concerted effort to keep himself awake. He had to make somebody believe what had been going on. He had tried to ask Emily to get a priest to come to his apartment, but she had just nodded sadly at him. He didn't think she had understood what he meant. An exorcism needed someone who truly believed; an agnostic cutting and pasting Catholic rituals obviously didn't work.

The door opened and a smiling nurse came in. "Hello, Dr. Reid," she said warmly. "My name is Joanne. I'm just going to take a few details from you."

"I'm just tired," he replied, seeing her nod at him. She was young and her neatly pressed uniform exuded efficiency, but there was empathy in her voice.

He answered the questions, all the while scanning the room for shadows. The fluorescent tubes buzzed reassuringly in the ceiling and he began to relax a little. The questions continued and so did his answers, but he wasn't really thinking about what he was saying.

"Are you in any pain?"

Reid noticed a curtain hanging in the corner of the room, shadowing the wall behind it. He tried not to worry about it, but found his eyes increasing drawn to it, watching it like a sentry.

"Are you taking any medication?" asked Joanne kindly.

Reid mumbled a negative reply, frowning at the dark shape on the wall. He needed to see if it was moving.

Joanne continued, "And are you sleeping? How many hours a night do you sleep?"

Reid shrugged. He leaned a little to one side to get a better view of the shadow. The edges were beginning to change shape.

Joanne wrote something, her pen scratching on the large pad of paper she was holding. Then she looked up at him. "Are you eating regular meals?" she asked.

Fixated on the shadow, he didn't answer her. Instead, he stared past her shoulder as tendrils of darkness cracked along the wall and then pushed out into the interior of the hospital room.

This could not be happening here. He was supposed to be safe here.

Joanne's voice had grown a little louder. "Dr. Reid?" she asked.

Reid didn't reply. He was staring, open mouthed as the shadow swelled and stretched into the familiar hooded figure. He froze as Raphael moved behind the nurse and lifted a pale finger to his mouth.

"Shhhh."

Reid tried to warn her but his voice just cracked and all he could manage was a croaked pleading. "Please."

Then his ears were filled with rushing sounds and words. He had to save her.

_Thou shalt not kill._

_Thou shalt not kill._

_Thou shalt not kill._

But he couldn't stop it and then he was kneeling beside her, trying to stem the flow of blood after Joanne had pulled the pen out of her throat. He was aware of Raphael slipping back into the shadows as he screamed for help. The blood was pumping out of the wounds in her neck, bubbling up through the gaps between his fingers and coursing in rivulets across her clothes and onto the floor.

Reid was still yelling when he was dragged away from the dying woman and handcuffed. Again and again he urged them to look in the shadows for Raphael but nobody would listen to him.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

Hotch took the call from the Clifton T Perkins Hospital Center with resignation. He was still listed as Reid's emergency contact and he nodded wearily as it was explained to him that Reid had been adjudged _Not Criminally Responsible_ and that he would be committed indefinitely to the hospital. Hotch had been expecting this outcome.

The team had all argued that Reid could not possibly be a killer, but with no other suspect and all the evidence indicating him, the cops had no option but to charge him. Everyone blamed themselves for not doing something sooner.

When Reid had looked in bewilderment at him in the visiting room and said in a small voice "I didn't do this," Hotch's heart had almost broken but there was nothing he could do. He wanted to believe it was the ghost of Raphael, but as everybody knew, there were no such things as ghosts.

Hotch admitted that he could have tried harder to trace Gideon and let him know, but he was still too mad at him to make the effort. He held Gideon's abandonment of Reid to be the final trigger for this breakdown and decided that his former friend had done enough damage already.

Hotch thought about how he would break the news to the others. This year, there had been a whole battalion of sorrows to bear and, though they all coped in their own ways, this last blow was going to be a hard one to take. He sat still for what seemed a long while. Then he rose from his desk, habitually brushed his suit jacket, and strode out of his office into the corridor.

In the conference room, the team were waiting.

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One need not be a chamber to be haunted

One need not be a house

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.

_Emily Dickinson_


End file.
